Duncton Stone (28 page)

“It slows us down,” said Weeth.

“No, it slows
everymole
down. But more to the point, if this weather sets in as heavily as I think it may, it will bring floods. Didn’t you see how full the streams and rivers in the Vale below the Edge were? That’s thaw water, and if it’s supplemented by rain we’ll have the kind of floods that bring confusion to even the best-ordered systems. All of which will help us to do our work unmolested.”

“Obvious, when
you
think of it,” observed Weeth wryly.

“We’ll stay as high above the coming floods as we can,” decreed Maple. “And we’ll travel fast, for there’s nothing like heavy rain and turbulent rivers to confuse moles, and make guards less wary. Our story can be that we’ve been flooded out of our system, and forced to travel north.”

“And we are Newborn?” suggested Weeth.

“Without question, mole,” said Maple, setting his snout northwards. “At least the wind’s behind us, the better to get us there! A mole might almost dare to think the Stone is on our side!”

In a sense it was, and one cannot have shadows, especially long and dark ones, without some concomitant light. In this case the light, the advantage, came from the fact that Privet’s tragedy was Maple’s gain, for it meant that Thorne and his well-trained guards were many days delayed on their journey to Cannock.

Maple’s and Weeth’s own trek was a hard slog north through the driving rain; the most dangerous passage was dropping down to the Severn Valley, and crossing the river to gain the higher ground on the far side that would take them finally to the sandstone heights of Cannock Chase. It was a crossing not without incident, for the river was rising fast and by the time they reached it two days after leaving Privet, they were tired out after many hours’ fatiguing negotiation of rushing brooks and streams. To make matters worse night was falling fast and Maple was determined to cross the river before it rose further. Guided by the doleful yellow glare of the eyes of roaring owls they made their way upstream to a two-foot crossing high and safe over the water.

Nor were they the only ones, for in the shadows below it, just off the way itself, they came across a pathetic huddle of five moles who almost jumped out of their skins with fright when Maple and Weeth loomed out of the darkness behind them.

“Don’t hurt
us,
sir,” cried out one of the two males among them, “we’re Newborn through and through! We’re on your side.”

When Maple replied, “I’ve no intention of hurting anymole, Newborn or otherwise!” their relief was tangible.

“We were just waiting for a good moment to risk the passage over the two-foot way but, well, we’re not used to this sort of thing and the roaring owls’ gazes frighten and confuse us.”

“They frighten and confuse me,” said Maple affably, shaking himself so that muddy water from his underbelly flew in all directions. “Why do you want to cross anyway?”

“To get away,” said their spokesmole darkly, adding, unconvincingly, “from the floods.”

“Mmm...” mused Maple. Then turning to Weeth, he said, “Grub about and find some food, Weeth, for all of us. A bit of nourishment is what these moles need.”

“Right away!” said Weeth, his own tiredness leaving him at the sudden change on the faces that had looked so defeated and frightened only a moment before. Now there was a look of gratitude and hope, and the fugitives gazed up at Maple and seemed to absorb something of his confidence and purpose.

“We —” began the mole.

“No, don’t speak yet,” said Maple, raising a paw. “Get some food down first... Weeth! Where is it then?”

Up came Weeth with some fat, dark red worms, of the kind that flourish in those parts.

“There’s plenty where these came from,” he said. “The rain’s brought them out.”

“Now,” said Maple in a measured way, once the moles had eaten, and dried out a little in a spot of shelter he had found for them, “I’d guess this is the first time you’ve ever tried to cross the river this way. Moles like you don’t flee their territory because of a bit of flooding.”

“You’re right, sir. What I was going to say, since you seem a decent sort of mole, was that, begging your pardon but not
all
Newborns are good, or do right by the Stone.”

“True,” said Maple. “Have another worm, my friend.”

“Go on, tell him!” said one of the females suddenly. “Report what happened.
He
could do something about it.”

“He could also have us arraigned!” whispered another. “Best forget.”

Maple sighed and grinned. “Out with it, one of you...”

One
of them?
All
of them more like. As eager as ferrets at a corpse they were to tell him of how a patrol of Newborns, hurrying back to Cannock, had come across several moles of their system making for higher ground to avoid the floods.

“Coming from Broseley as we do, we’re used to a spot of water, as you say. So at this season, and sometimes when the autumn years are wet, we head upslope towards the Edge until the danger’s past...”

“... And I said we should have gone earlier, and so we should and none of this would...”

“... have happened? No, it wouldn’t, would it Myrtle! You’re always so bloody clever you are! Well it
has
happened and we’ve got to make the best of it!”

The story came out bit by bit. It seemed that the Newborn patrol had picked on the advance party of the Broseley moles, while they waited for others to join them. There was an altercation and a fight ensued, though a one-sided one. Two of the Broseley youngsters had got into difficulties in the water, and while one of the adults went to their aid, the Newborn guards attacked the remainder, mainly older moles.

“Three dead, two died later, four lost in fleeing,” was the final bleak tally. “And then they just upped and left, no comment, no explanation, nothing. Came, killed, destroyed our community, and left. When the Newborns first came to us and persuaded us to adopt their ways they said we’d get protection! Instead we get harried, bullied, and finally gratuitously attacked because we’re not “true” Newborns, whatever that may mean.”

The sorry group stared in righteous outrage at Maple and Weeth.

“Did you get their names?” asked Weeth.

“Names! That’s a joke! Brothers Barmy, Bastard and Backward, I should think. If we’d asked their names none of us’d be here to tell the tale. Now we’re getting out of it as quick as we can.”

“Where are you heading for?”

“Where we can get some
real
protection, that’s where!”

“Where’s that?”

“Ssh, Furrow! You’ve said enough as it is. He
is
Newborn,” hissed the sharp-eyed female.

“You shouldn’t believe everymole you meet is Newborn,” said Maple.

“Not Newborn? One thing’s sure, you don’t come from these parts with an accent like that!”

“Like what?” laughed Maple.

“Sort of, well, clear. Like a scribemole.”

“Aye, well,” said Maple. “I’m no more Newborn than you are, and nor’s my friend. Now, where are you going to?”

“The one place round here that’s resisted the Newborns so far,” said the mole promptly, as the others eyed Maple and Weeth with a new friendliness: “Rowton. That’s where.”

Maple looked at Weeth and then back at their new friends. “Well, then, if that’s where you want to get to we’ll see you there safely.”

“Even across the river
here,
sir?” said the female.

“There’s no time like the present! Come on – Weeth, you take up the rear.”

“But the roaring owls, sir,” said Furrow. “They’ll —”

“They’ll do nothing to you if you keep your eyes down and away from their gazes, and avoid breathing their fumes.”

“No, sir! It’s no good! You’ll not get me going that way!”

“Mole,” said Maple slowly, “there’s far worse trials coming in the molemonths and years ahead. The Stone’s got you this far because it needs every true follower it can get, and it needs
you. All
of you. As I said before, I’m wary of the roaring owls myself, and so is my timid friend Weeth. But we’ve got a task ahead of us and that’s more important than our fears. So have you.”

“We’ve got a task? But we’re just ordinary moles.”

“You show me a true follower of the Stone who is anything more than “just an ordinary mole”!” declared Maple, eyes seeming almost alight in the dark, as he stanced up boldly towards the cross-over, the yellow gazes of the passing roaring owls shining in his fur.

“Well,
you’re
not for one,” muttered Weeth to himself as he saw how Maple’s words inspired the others; casting their fears aside, they stanced up to follow him.

“Oh yes, you’ve got a task all right. You’re followers of the Stone, aren’t you? Well then, the time’s coming when moles like you and I are going to have to defend it.”

“Against... I mean... you don’t mean...” faltered the older of the moles.

“Of
course
he means the Newborns,” cried out the female Myrtle, eyes ablaze and a new vigour about her. “And about time too, just like I’ve been saying!”

“Do you mean them, sir?”

“I do. Now, mole, what’s your name?”

“Furrow, sir!”

“And this mole. Myrtle?”

“My mate, sir, for better or for worse.”

“Better, like I’ve always told you,” said Myrtle unexpectedly.

“Well then, Furrow, you come forward over this crossover with me, and you know what you leave behind you?”

“Floods, sir.”

“Floods and the fear that the Stone’s not at your flank always.”

“Yes,
sir
!” said Furrow grinning.

“And you know what you’ll find on the far side, the moment you put your paw on the good ground again?”

“Well, I
think
I do,” said Furrow uncertainly.

“You tell him, sir!” said Myrtle.

“No, I think he can tell us,” said Maple.

Furrow ventured a little past Maple towards the two-foot way and peered into the darkness across the river, from which and to which the roaring owls came and went. He was by no means a big mole, nor a strong-looking one. Weeth could not but reflect he was very ordinary indeed. Yet somehow Maple had inspired him to stance up boldly and face his uncertain future so that he looked almost heroic, the brave protector of those with him, and most specially the sharp-tongued Myrtle.

“I can’t say as I see much in this darkness, sir, but what I feel is that over that side, if me and my kin can only make our way there and beyond to Rowton, we’ll find a way of... a way we might...”

“You tell him, Furrow, like I’ve told
you
.”

“... a way to
fight
the Newborns.” His body almost shook when he said the word “fight’, as if he had never dared say it before and was surprised he had now. But he
had
said it, and everymole there, including Maple, now looked at him expectantly.

“Well, then,” he said finally, “I suppose I’d better lead you all across. No looking at the gazes, no breathing in the fumes, just keep your snouts down and follow the mole in front. And I’d be much obliged if you’d keep up the rear,” he added to Weeth.

“With pleasure, with alacrity,” said Weeth, much moved by Furrow’s new-found courage.

“Come on then!” gulped Furrow, and turning from them he led them forth.

“I always
said
he had it in him!” said Myrtle with admiration in her voice. “Didn’t I say that? I did, you know.”

“Stop talking, Myrtle, and start moving,” said Furrow over his shoulder, and across the river they went, eyes down, snouts averted from the roaring owls, scurrying one after another to safety.

The following afternoon the party reached Rowton, pawsore and weary, with Maple in the lead finally, to keep them going. Not that Furrow had faltered, but as Maple said to Weeth as they went along, moles find their strengths in fits and starts, and it is best not to push them too hard at the beginning.

“The important thing is to make them realize they can do it by themselves,” he said. “After that they’ve got the feel of success. That’s our task, Weeth, to make what followers we meet and those who turn to us
know
that they’ve got the strength to confront the Newborns.
We
can’t win the war for them, but if we can make them believe they can fight then we’ll win the war with their help!”

Looking at Maple, witnessing the wise way he led even so small a group of “ordinary” moles, and how he put the new fire and purpose into their paws, Weeth knew he saw a great leader in the making. But it was not just the way he inspired those about him, but also that he seemed never to stop thinking about the landscapes and different sites they travelled through, pondering their military possibilities and pitfalls.

“I can remember no reference in the texts to Rowton,” he said, “so I shall be interested to survey it – most successful resistance begins with a defensible site, or moles who know how to turn disadvantage to advantage.”

Yet when they came to Rowton, late the following afternoon, the rain now a depressing drizzle, they found it occupied a nondescript north-eastern slope, with woodland above, and a valley, half obscured by the lie of the land, below. It did not look particularly defensible to Weeth.